c l o s u r e
by xXNaruMayoiXx
Summary: because april 14th, 1912, was a night to remember. titanic drabble collection.
1. my piece of paradise

**Disclaimer;** I don't own Titanic. The ship or the movie. ._.

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closure

a titanic fic

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_my piece of paradise_

Because paradise only came to her in her dreams now.

Because paradise was being aboard the ship of dreams, hand in hand with Jack and watching the endless blue seas, never understanding how New York could be at the end of all that beautiful blue.

But paradise was only a figment of her memory, because she had no _Titanic _anymore, no Jack, and certainly no paradise.

The sleep that followed nights of tears and sobs and gasps of breath sometimes offered Rose comfort.

Because in her dreams, she was still sailing on the _Titanic, _restored to all its grandeur and heading for a new land, not lying, broken and disfigured, at the bottom of the North Atlantic. Because in her dreams, Jack was there, his crooked grin unwavering and his blue eyes twinkling.

When she woke up, she could barely breathe, because all she could think about is how Jack had seemed so alive and real, almost as if he had never left her. But he had, and all that was a painful twisted dream, and it was those moments of crushing realization that made her cry and scream and lament over how unfair life was. Even the bright June sunlight offered no solace, because looking out the window and seeing the lovely green oak trees, she remembered Jack talking about how summer was his favourite season because everyone was so happy and cried because he'd never wake up to June sun again.

But the dreams were so taunting, so painful, a lasting reminder of what she'd never be able to have. Even shooting stars in August night skies couldn't bring a smile to her face, because her one wish in the world was truly impossible, because not even the skies and heavens could bring Jack back to her. Because Jack was dead and cold and rotting in the Atlantic, and Rose wanted to throw up at the very thought. The dreams mocked her, making everything seem so perfect for those few blissful seconds, before cruelly yanking them away and bringing her back to reality.

And Rose wanted to live in those dreams forever- to fall asleep to the thought of Jack and never departing her happy place. But she always does wake up, to the dull view of her apartment ceiling and listening to the sound of automobile honks and shrieking crows.

When Rose married Charles Calvert, she returned back to her bit of paradise, where Jack was sitting, beaming. He had tears in his eyes and a small, longing smile, but he stood up and laughed and walked away for one final time.

When Rose woke up that morning, she held the _Heart of the Ocean _close to her, remembering how Jack had drawn her and how perfect life seemed at that moment. But life was good again, because she remembered how to love and smile and all those little things that made each passing day great again. She could now feel the sunlight on her skin and the butterflies in her stomach that fluttered each time that special person smiled. But she'd let go of the past, and the paradise never came back.

But she still missed Jack, the poor artist who had kissed her and held her and dug himself a special place in Rose's heart. Charles wasn't a Jack, and Jack wasn't a Charles, and it wasn't fair to be comparing the two all the time, something Rose did that always made her feel immensly guilty.

And Rose had kids, just like Jack had said. She had a beautiful baby girl, with bright red curls and curious green eyes. And Rose had called her Josephine, never revealing her full reasons to Charles, who had never questioned her reluctance, bless him. Then God had gifted her with two lovely and mischievous fraternal twins, little Diana and Simon.

Rose had a perfect family, and a perfect husband, and almost nothing felt greater than seeing herself on the silver screen for the first time. She saw her name roll down the credits of a moving picture, rode a horse on a beach in Santa Monica after riding the roller coaster so many times she threw up, and went fishing and flew and did all the things she'd promised Jack she would.

And she still remembered him, in the little ways. She remembered him whenever she saw the seafoam blue waters at the pier, the crumpled up balls of sketch paper on the street, or everytime a warm spring breeze blew past her and brought back smells of smoke and cheap beer and wild mint and dandelions.

She'd never loved Charles the way she loved Jack, and Rose felt ashamed and guilty over this fact. Maybe she was afraid to love again, because she didn't want to be hurt again or for another one of her selfish reasons. But Jack had managed to dwell in her forever, his words giving her the strength to smile, to laugh, to move on with her life.

In ways, she always had a bit of paradise in her, because Jack's words never left her. They instilled in her a lasting memory, of words whispered over passionate moments or hours spent leaning over the rails, watching the waves and talking about meaningless things like family and weather.

And Charles did inevitably leave her, dying from a stroke at age 87. But he'd lived a healthy life, and he had a nice little funeral service where Rose spoke, about how great of a man he was.

And it hurt, too. But it didn't hurt as much as Jack, another thing that made Rose feel painfully guilty and made the weight on her shoulders so much more heavy.

She let the memories of _Titanic _go, but never fully, because she could always remember the new china and rolling waves, no matter how many times she tried to forget. And the little peace she had found had been uprooted when Brock Lovett brought everything crashing back, and so she returned to _Titanic, _after 84 years.

The waves didn't seem nearly as frightening in the day as it had at night.

And she talked. She talked about Jack, about Cal, about her life on the Titanic, those few wonderful days that seemed like forever.

They'd listened, of course, and eventually gave up on finding the _Heart of the Ocean, _both for lack of funds and lack of heart. And in the dead of night, she climbed up on the railing and dropped the necklace into the waters, where it truly belonged.

And that night, paradise came to her again, but this time, it was reality.


	2. moments

**disclaimer:** I don't own Titanic. The ship or the movie.

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closure

_moments_

Fabrizio di Rossi was a work of art.

She could barely communicate with him and she had only known him for two days, but Helga Dahl had fallen hopelessly in love.

Because he'd always been so kind and caring, the epitome of a perfect gentleman, from the moment they'd first spoken at the third class docks.

But her father put a stop to that immediately, calling Fabrizio words Helga would never dare repeat. But the little Italian had caught her eye, with his laugh that made her feel light and the butterflies in her stomach start fluttering, her father's words so distant and vague when she was next to him. And she'd nudged him, watching the exchange between Jack and Rose with amusement, smiling shyly to herself as she heard Fabrizio and his Irish friend exchange laughs.

On the party in the third class quarters, he'd flashed her a grin and offered her his hand. And they were twirling, twirling, the people around them meaningless and irrelevant, because they both wanted nothing more than to just freeze that moment, because everything was so perfect and felt so utterly _right._

And when the music ended and all the beer was gone, they'd walked around the third class decks, losing themselves in the stars and the words and each other's smiles.

He made her feel safe, secure, and made her a little more certain about her future, because she knew from that day on, that Fabrizio would always be in her life, in some way or another.

Because she didn't want to think about having to say goodbye to the Italian who'd swept her off to her feet and made her fall oh so hopelessly in love.

And they'd talked for hours, until the winds were too cold and the sky too dark, before making their way walked her back to her room,quickly stealing a kiss and giving her that cheeky smile that made her feel all happy and light. He'd strolled away, hands in his pockets and whistling a tune that she didn't recognize.

That was the moment she'd fallen in love with Fabrizio di Rossi.

* * *

Because the ship was too high and her hands were too sweaty, and the bar she was holding on to seemed to get wider and wider with each breath she took.

But what was the use in hanging on?

She'd seen her father falling off the decks, falling to the black murky waters with a sickening splash. She'd seen her mother floating in the water, still. And she'd seen Fabrizio, crushed under a falling funnel, his face painted with terror as he'd seen his impending death.

Rose caught her eye. She was next to Jack, and her mouth formed a small o as she registered who the blond girl clinging for life was. Helga pleaded with her, feeling her fingers slip away, and Rose looked close to tears as she mouthed an "_I'm sorry,"._

She felt her fingers slip, one by one.

She registered the feeling of weightlessness, listening to the fallen ship give one last shudder, before a scream was ripped out of her body as she collided with the furious sea.

And the stars gave way to a dizzying black.

* * *

Everything had a feeling of airiness to it, like things weren't perfectly solid or perfectly stable. But Fabrizio was in front of her, his face calm and serene, and she felt a smile upturn her lips as she rushed towards him.

His arms engulfed her in a tight embrace, his eyes relieved, and she could feel her heartbeat melding with his.

And she felt okay, and she really was okay, because who needed America when she had Fabrizio right in front of her? She could make out her father's figure, his face tight as he nodded his begrudged approval.

Fabrizio laughed, smoothing her blond hair which had come out of its braid and cascaded down her shoulders like a waterfall.

"Ah, Helga, you shouldn't have followed me this time," Fabrizio said sadly, his English still carrying that distinctive lilt, but Helga understood him so much better. His hair was ruffled and he was unshaven, but all that made him more endearing.

"But I did-" the words came out of her mouth without thinking, and she didn't really have to ,because her words were still sweetly Norwegian but so much clearer. She leaned up and brushed her lips against his, feeling a surge of warmth go through her as her heart pounded in her chest. "-and I wouldn't change a thing."

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**A/N:** I think I should stick to writing Jack/Rose, don't you?

This is... iffy. I just wanted to write a Fabri/Helga oneshot but WHAT IS THIS.

barely any angst

pfft this does not meet my standards.

no, I'm just kidding.

Please review, they're better than cookies! (:


	3. kissing & screaming

**disclaimer;** I don't own Titanic- the ship or the movie. ):

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_kissing and screaming_

"Why do we do this to ourselves?"

The question pains her, because truthfully, she doesn't know.

Because the sparks are gone and his eyes are angry, and Rose just doesn't know what to do anymore.

"I don't know." Rose squeaks, her voice like a mouse. Her curls are escaping her bun and they frame her face loosely. Jack notices the glassiness in her eyes, and his anger fades in a throbbing guilt.

"God, I'm sorry, Rose."

It's a cycle, of love and hate and hoping for a way to feel those sparks again. Because they aren't there anymore, no matter how much they try.

They kiss and they scream and they make love to each other as an apology, but he's lost the glint in his eyes and she cries herself to sleep each night.

Maybe three days was too short to tell, but Rose thought it felt so right.

But it's not right, and they're living in a run down apartment in a shady area of New York because damn it, neither of them can afford to live by themselves. So they live together, not out of love, but out of necessity.

The calm's electric, like the air before a thunderstorm.

Because they know that one of them's going to break eventually.

It was all a waiting game.

"God, I hate you!" Rose screams, throwing a china doll in his general direction.

Jack scowls, his hands clenching into fists and he's trying to breathe, (_onetwothreefour_) to stop himself from hitting her because he's not going to sink to Cal's level.

"You're no picnic either, Rose." he says her name with so much contempt, he can almost feel her heart crushing. Her face screws into one of pain and hurt, but it's quickly replaced by cold indifference.

"Well, God be damned, no more speech about that fire inside me?" she sneers, and Jack's really trying not to hit something but it's evident by the white in his knuckles that he's failing miserably.

"God damn it, Rose, if you hate me so much, leave then! Leave! Take your fucking diamond and sell it and live like a lapdog to your forty year old husband!" Jack screams, his face red and angry, and Rose almost jumps up because the last time he was so angry, it was when the crew barricaded the steerage passengers.

Had it only been four months ago?

Because Rose feels like it's been forever, each second dragging on.

Rose's heart is breaking, and she wants to cry but she _refuses_ to let him get to her, not in front of him, anyway.

"Fine then." Rose snaps, tossing her curls behind her back. "Go draw your naked French girls, you bastard."

And she's gone, gone like the wind, and Jack can't help but wonder if that's the last he'll see of her.

"I'm pregnant."

Those nights of hate driven love making caught up to them, and Rose is in his doorway, waiting for an answer that seems like it'll never come.

"What am I supposed to do?" Jack answers finally, no anger in his voice but just a feeling of helplessness.

"I don't know. I don't know anymore, Jack." Rose whispers, and she runs into his arms, because she realizes she can't live without him.

"God, Rose. We'll figure it out somehow. We always have." Jack says finally, stroking her hair and kissing her temple, like he always did.

"You think?" Rose whimpers, because she's so lost and she can't believe he's taking her back.

"I know so, Rose. I was supposed to die on the _Titanic, _but screw fate, huh? We'll be alright," and Jack smiles that goofy, crooked grin and Rose feels something stir, an internal hunger waking from its slumber.

When he leans down to kiss her, she can feel the sparks again.

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**A/N: **I love my Jack/Rose as much as the next guy, but sometimes I wonder if they really would've made it- i mean, they've only had three days to judge each other, they may not have worked out as perfectly as everyone assumed.

Next chapter comes when I see three new reviews (:

come on, click the big blue button, I know you want to (:


	4. i'll never let go

**disclaimer: **I don't own Titanic.

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_i'll never let go_

Everything's light, watery- it's there, but not fully solid.

The wreckage is disfigured and covered with rust, but farther up, the paint's still there, the varnishing on the wooden floors still polished and clean.

She walks farther up, and the decks are all restored, each nail on the wooden decks polished and new.

And the hallways are there, the tiles intricate and ornate. But she continues walking, because there's a steward waiting for her, and she knows in her heart that Jack's there.

So she walks in, and she doesn't realize that she's wearing a gown until she sees everyone's eyes her.

She sees Trudy, her maid, and the brave band who played until the ship's last minutes. She sees Cora and her family, Tommy Ryan, Fabrizio and Helga, hand in hand. She sees William Murdoch, smiling genially, and Thomas Andrews, who nods in her direction, smiling.

But she only has eyes for one person.

He's looking at the clock (2:20 a.m., how ironic) and he looks over his shoulder, a smile broadening on his face when sees her. He holds out his left hand, and she takes it, because she hasn't felt his touch for so long.

Her breath hitches in her chest because damn it, he's so close, and she doesn't know how she lived eighty four years without him.

She feels so complete around him, and she can smell him, the cigarette smoke and wild clover and lemon.

He leans down to kiss her, and she feels the butterflies all over again when his lips touch hers, and there's that tingle in her chest that makes her want to smile. Her lips turn up into a shy smile, because she's aware of the clapping behind her, but all she notices is him.

Her arm hooks around his neck, and she can feel the sunlight streaming in from the skylight.

He pulls away and looks at her, and she can't believe how unbelievably happy she is when she loses herself in those deep pools of blue.

Eighty four years.

Eighty four long years.

She rode a horse, rode a rollercoaster, became an actress and lived to see her grandchildren graduate.

But now she was on the Titanic again, with Jack, _her _Jack, and that's all she's ever wanted.

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**A/N:**

Sorry, life's been absolutely hectic these past few weeks, with my middle school graduation and the usual summer withdrawal and a new relationship(!) so writing really hasn't been on my mind._  
_

Whee for prewriting.

Reviews make my day(:


	5. flowers

**disclaimer: **I don't own Titanic.

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closure

_flowers_

April 15th.

She spends the night staring out her window, at the graveyard for the steerage passengers who died aboard the ill fated Titanic. She can't sleep- how could she?

At midnight, she walks out, clad in nothing but her paisley pajamas and wearing a worn pair of white heels.

Her heels clicking on the cobblestone walkways, she stops in front of a dusty pink gravestone, the one she paid to have inscribed with Jack's name on it.

It's a simple gravestone, because she can't afford much. It has _Jack Dawson _inscribed neatly on the tombstone, with his birthdate (_June 13th, 1895) _and day of passing (_April 15th, 1912) _etched under it. There's another phrase, too, and Rose runs her finger over the cold inscription.

_I'll Never Let Go._

Because Rose can't stand to think about Jack being another faceless steerage passenger, his memory lost in the winds as the years pass by. She feels like she has to honour his memory somehow.

Rose refuses to let Jack to be forgotten.

The wind's getting too cold and she swears she can hear voices whistling through the trees, so Rose drops a single white carnation on the tomb and hurries home.

-x-

Every year, on April 15th, Rose stops by the dusty rose tombstone, each year leaving a bouquet of flowers, filled with white carnations, and forget-me-nots, red roses and passionflowers, pansies and red tulips.

The voices in the winds get quieter, more restless, but they don't bother her anymore.

One April 15th, she stops by with Richard Calvert.

And he doesn't say anything, because he knows this is Rose's moment. He watches silently as she places the bouquet down, decorated with an assortment of flowers that'd make any florist and decorative arranger cry in frustration. He sees her reading about flowers, about their meanings, and he knows their meanings too.

But he has to curb those pangs of jealousy, jealousy of the dead nameless man who's still in Rose's heart after ten long years. He needs to be there for her, because he knows she's delicate, a broken shard of glass that'll never be fully repaired. He pulls her away, because she can see the glassiness in her eyes, and gives her a comforting kiss on the temple.

Rose casts one more longing look at the gravestone, before sighing dejectedly and leaving, Richard Calvert trailing her worldlessly.

-x-

Rose leaves the bouquet every April 15th, the pansies and white carnations and forget-me-nots among other flowers, every April 15th for the next 60 years.

In Santa Monica, in her stint as an actress, she flies back to New York City every April.

In Brooklyn, she drives down and takes her kids, promising them ice cream if they'll give Mommy a few minutes of silence.

In Syracuse, she has Lizzy drive her down, because she knows Lizzy'll never ask too many questions, questions she doesn't have answers to herself.

On the April 15th before her 100th birthday, she can hear the voices again.

"_come josephine, in my flying **machine**..." _

She doesn't have time to fly down to New York City in 1996, because she's on the _Keldysh, _above the Titanic, and at 2:20 on April 15th, of 1996, Rose Calvert passes away.

And she flies, flies above the world, soaring through the blue waters of the Atlantic, the waves warm and tickling her arms. She's seventeen again, her face bright and full of life, and she's in Southampton, boarding the _Titanic, _the _Titanic _that'll now have a chance to finish her maiden voyage.

So she walks to her stateroom, and Jack's sitting there, sketching.

Sketching vase after vase, each delicate, glass vase filled with flowers- white carnations and red tulips, forget-me-nots and pansies, red roses and passionflowers.

All the flowers Rose has placed over 84 years on his gravestone are there, each one alive and blooming.

"I'm sorry I couldn't give you one last bouquet." Rose mumbles, her voice lost because _is he really in front of her? _

Jack laughs, a nice laugh that Rose hasn't heard in eighty four years, the laugh that can make her heart pound and bring a smile to her face.

"I have the only Rose I'll ever need right in front of me."

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**A/N: **_  
_

Please forgive me for this extremely late update, aah.

I've just been having a huge writing block, because everything I write seems so bleh. And on top of that, on the 8th, I had a pretty nasty spill off a horse after a jumping lesson on a walk break, and I had to go to the hospital for evaluation. Small concussion and killer whiplash, ew. The laptop screen gave me a pretty bad headache so yes.

That's not really a decent excuse though.

On the plus side, Jay has good neews~

Okay, so basically before I even started writing this fic, I began writing another Titanic fic, called _don't say your goodbyes yet. _It's basically following Rose after Jack's death and having Rose come to peace with Jack's death. And kids. And OC Calvert goodness.

I'm about three chapters along, and cripes is the 1920s a hard period to write! All the new inventions, the war, the Spanish flu and the Great Depression and World War II, other ship sinkings like the _Empress of Ireland, Lusitania, Britannic, Bismarck, Wilhelm Gustloff, _and later on the _Andrea Doria, _among others. Aaah 1900s WHY SO CONFUSING BLECH._  
_

I don't know if I should post up the first story, it'll probably be updated every two weeks because I'm rubbish at updating regularly.

Let me know in your reviews if I should post it up yet.

Speaking of reviews, only one? Can I get two for this chapter? This is quite personally one of my favourites. It just came out really easily and 20 minutes later I have a brand, spanking new chapter that I love. I think it came out better than my other ones.

Review, loves(:

NaruMayoi


	6. forgotten

**disclaimer;** I don't own Titanic. Uh, the ship or the movie.

* * *

closure

-x-

_forgotten_

-x-

In the graveyard next to Rose's flat, there's a section marked off for the men, women, and children lost in the Titanic tragedy.

There are big names- Ida and Isidor Straus, Thomas Andrews, Captain Smith. But there's a large section, near a big willow tree, for all the steerage passengers and stokers, the faceless men and women honored with a blank gravestone.

Because nobody knows their identity.

Once upon a time, they may have been a Jane Richards, Frank Davies, a Tom Edwards or Gilbert Hughes. But now they slumber, faceless people, their names unknown and their memories forgotten.

The stones become weathered and chipped and faded over time, and even the ones inscribed with names soon become illegible. Those who remembered them- friends, families, daughters or kin, soon forget them, their faces becoming blurred and their voices becoming one not like their own. And soon they die too, and the people who died on the Titanic wander, their life as if they had simply _vanished _off the Earth. They're ghosts, stuck in a limbo, watching the people walk by and screaming for someone to _just notice._

It's a graveyard filled with blank tombstones, each one honoring a brave soul who perished in the freezing Atlantic waters, but what use is a blank tombstone?

Their identities will never be recorded, their names and very existence forgotten and blown away like dust by the winds of time.

So they sit there, perhaps reunited with a loved one or their family over the course of years.

They watch, on a stone perch near a concrete lion overlooking the graveyard, and watch the young men and woman stroll through the graves, looking and counting the number of blank stones there are- over a eight hundred, all blank, all representing a man or woman or child who nobody will remember. It's heartbreaking, all the blank faces and nameless people who sleep on the bottom of the ocean, just another number to the mounds of scientists who poke and prod at the _Titanic's _mangledremains when once upon a time they were _someone._

To the younger men and women walking by, it's terribly tragic, and the spirits watching can't help but agree.

* * *

__**A/N: **I quite like this one. (:

My drabbles are getting shorter. WAAH. D:

2 reviews, please? (:


	7. forever

I don't own Titanic. (:

* * *

closure

-x-

_forever_

_-_x-

He sits there, unmoving, his hands sweeping over his paper in swift, deft movements.

He draws her, a different position each day. His drawings capture her life, her character, in the way the erasers lift the shadowing to reflect her youth, or the extra shading that emphasizes her full, red lips. They look lifelike, realistic, but they are drawn only from memory.

Not that he needs much reminding of what she looks like- no, Jack has nothing to do, so he lives his life out in peace. He draws, sometimes Cora, sometimes Fabrizio, sometimes the other men and women who've taken an interest in his work. He doesn't get paid, though- what use is money in the afterlife?

Mostly, he draws her. He draws her sitting, standing, every natural position he can think of. When he misses her, he draws her nude, in positions he's seen only once, in the backseat of that Renault the night where everything went wrong. He blushes when he draws, and keeps the completed sketches deep in his portfolio.

Can't have Cora peeking at those.

He's waiting, waiting, waiting for her to join him.

He'll wait as long as he needs, if only to see her smile again, to hear her laugh. They are his bread and water, the food that nourishes his soul. There's a part of him that remains with her- even as she marries, as his memory fades into the crevices of her mind.

He watches with a pang in his heart, but a proud smile on his face, as she marries, has a child, then a second, followed by a third.

His sketches are comprised mainly of Rose caring for her children during that time. Jack has never seen eyes so filled with love and tenderness, and he tries his best to capture that. He focuses on her eyes- her beautiful, beautiful eyes, the eyes that are a gateway to her soul.

Jack still waits for her, but she's still deeply grounded to the living.

He watches as Calvert passes from heart disease, as her children grow up, as Rose becomes a grandmother. He can feel her presence wavering, but he wills for her to live.

He feels a shudder run down his back when he sees her on _Keldysh, _nearing one hundred and one and listens to her tell the story of_ Titanic... their _story.

The memories stay with him, clear as day, because he's never forgotten even a single detail, from the salty night air the night she tried to throw herself off the stern, to the rise and fall of her bare chest, that night in the Renault. He can remember the water, like knives, and the panic he felt when the knives died down to pinpricks and the stars became so much closer.

Rose is close to him now, but he worries- will she join him? Will she not go back to Calvert?

He whispers to her, as a breath of wind, "_Make it count; meet me at the clock."_

And she stirs, just a little bit, but Jack has to leave.

It's almost ironic, how Rose joins him at 2:20- the time he left her.

But Rose is there, in a white, intricately beaded gown, and she's so close to him (_where has all the air in the room gone?_) and Jack's breath is taken away.

He leans down to kiss her, and she's almost a bit nervous, but there's a smile on her face.

He's waited eighty four years to kiss her again, and he would wait another eighty four if he had to, because she was Rose and he was Jack, and he'd walk to the ends of the Earth just to see her smiling again.

* * *

**A/N: **Shoutout to classicmovielover for being such an amazing reviewer! (:

And shoutout to Rose Dewitt Bukater Dawson, traluluv, Guest, and Luna-Pond for reviewing (:

Reviewers are better than candy ~


	8. dance with me

me no own Titanic.

* * *

closure

-x-

_dance with me_

"Dance with me," he whispered.

"There's no music," she said shyly, trying to hide her blush from him.

His blue eyes met her green ones, and she felt like she was looking into his soul.

"Who said we needed music?" he laughed, taking her by the hands and pulling her closer, feeling their heartbeats meld together.

"This is absurd!" she giggled, feeling her heart pound at how close they were, at how his hand rested on her waist.

"Our relationship in general is absurd, but I have you, and that's all that matters, isn't it?" he breathed, and she didn't know what she did to deserve such a wonderful man.

"I suppose." she felt her breath hitch, and his fingers intertwined with hers, and she marvelled at how strong his hands were, how their fingers fit together perfectly.

"Dance with me, Rose." he laughed, and they danced all night to the music in their heads, dancing under the millions of twinkling stars in the sky and thinking about how morning seemed so far away.

* * *

**A/N: **Okay, really short, I know, and I'm so sorry I haven't updated in forever. I've just been so busy with school and I'm like _physically drained and exhausted _and as soon as I finish my homework all I want to do is sleep, so I haven't been writing much lately, admittedly :$_  
_

I've been running out of ideas for closure, aah, there's only so many Jack/Rose oneshots you can do before you run out of ideas, blaah.

DOES ANYONE HAVE ANY SHIPPINGS? PROMPTS? THINGS THEY'D LIKE ME TO WRITE?

I've been toying with the ideas of a) doing a series of oneshots with Jack and Rose in the modern age, and b) doing their love story on another stricken ship (_Lusitania, Empress of Ireland, Wilhelm Gustloff _to name a few ideas). The only problem with the second idea though would be the historical accuracy. I'd probably mess up the deck plans or something, but I _really want to do it! _it seems fun!

I will eat my words as soon as I start the mini little drabble series, HAHA.

okay, anyways:

**REVIEW WITH WHAT YOU WANT TO SEE: PAIRINGS, PLOTS, PROMPTS, ANYTHING.**

I need ideas . T_T**  
**


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